“Get your hands off my father—right now!”
Nolan ordered him back.
Daniel stayed where he was.
“You’re going to pay for this.”
Nolan sneered.
“You threatening me?”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice became frighteningly calm.
“I’m telling you that from this moment forward, you need to preserve every second of your body-camera footage.”
Nolan blinked.
Daniel pointed toward the camera on his chest.
“Do not turn it off.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Daniel Harris.”
“Good for you.”
“That man is George Harris. He has lived at this address for thirty-six years.”
Nolan looked toward George.
Then toward the house.
Daniel continued.
“That woman is Martha Harris. His wife.”
“Back up.”
“I haven’t moved.”
“You’re interfering with an investigation.”
“What crime are you investigating?”
Nolan’s jaw tightened.
“Possible burglary.”
Daniel looked at his parents’ front door.
Then at George.
Then at Nolan.
“Who is the homeowner?”
“I’m determining that.”
Daniel pointed toward Martha.
“She just told you.”
Nolan snapped:
“I don't know who any of you are.”
Daniel looked toward the house.
“Then check.”
Silence.
“Dispatch can verify the registered owner in less time than you’ve spent wrenching a seventy-four-year-old man’s arms behind him.”
Nolan’s expression changed.
Not because he suddenly understood.
Because somebody had begun speaking his procedural language.
He hated that.
“Are you an attorney?”
Daniel held his eyes.
“Yes.”
Nolan looked away first.
The second patrol car arrived ninety seconds later.
Officer Karen Wells stepped out.
She saw George on the ground.
Martha beside him.
Daniel several feet away.
Nolan holding the handcuffs.
“What happened?”
Nolan answered immediately.
“Possible burglary suspect. Became resistant. Wife interfered. Male subject approached aggressively.”
Daniel almost laughed.
Instead he said:
“Your camera is recording that statement, correct?”
Nolan shot him a look.
Wells looked toward George.
“How old is he?”
“Seventy-four,” Martha said.
“My arm…”
George’s voice had become weak.
Wells crouched.
“Sir, where does it hurt?”
“Right wrist. Shoulder.”
She looked at Nolan.
“Why is he still cuffed?”
“He's detained.”
“For what?”
Nolan’s irritation returned.
“I just told you.”
Wells glanced at the house.
“Does he live here?”
“Claims he does.”
Martha stood.
“I have property tax records inside. His wallet. Our marriage certificate if you’d like our entire life history.”
Wells looked uncomfortable.
Then keyed her radio.
“Dispatch, verify registered occupants for 214 Ashford Lane.”
Nolan frowned.
“That’s not necessary.”
Daniel looked at him.
“It wasn't?”
Nobody answered.
Dispatch returned moments later.
“Property registered to George A. Harris and Martha L. Harris.”
Wells looked at Nolan.
Then at George.
Then at the cuffs.
“Take them off.”
Nolan hesitated.
That hesitation would appear later in the investigation.
“Blake.”